


230 - Based on the Broken Army Live Electric Video

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt "have ya seen the youtube vid of van singing broken army on an electric guitar? could u do a fic where you're at that party and you watch him play n fall for him after that? u can decide where it goes from there"





	230 - Based on the Broken Army Live Electric Video

From across the room, you watched him hook up a milky white electric guitar to an amp with a taped on smiley face. The amp was sat on an ugly brown leather couch and you wondered why he hadn't used the table in front of him. There though, he threw a couple of picks. Maybe he didn't want to disrupt the glasses and bowls on the table, polite then. Maybe he just didn't think things through, chaotic too. You hoped for a bit of both.

He was in almost-all black. His boots, jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket were all dark, but the hoodie that was on between his shirt and jacket was grey. The hoodie/jacket combo had always been on your list of things that made you feel all hot and giggly. It was what you had noticed about him as he first walked into the room. Then, as he sat down and started to play, it was the sharp angle of his nose and the horrible cut of his hair.

He was being filmed; you watched the screen on the digital camera zoom in too close to his face. They would move to focus on his hands, strumming without the help of any of the picks on the table. The music coming from the amp was unfamiliar to you. The lyrics that began to spill from his mouth were the same. You'd missed him say before the song that it was an original. The room was filled with conversation and you couldn't hear his quiet speaking voice. He sang loud though.

He moved his head with little nods and twists that made you smirk. His leg bounced slightly out of time to his melody and he licked his lips quickly between lyrics. "Keep breathing, keep breathing," rang out across the room as people stopped talking to pay attention to him. As he finished the final line and his fingers danced over the strings, he grinned. "Yeah… Thank you." He was done.

You followed your brother and his friends outside for a smoke, leaving the boy behind to continue with his little solo electric set. The party was full of strangers and you didn't want to get separated from Zach. At least if you had to trail along behind your big brother, he was a cool big brother to have. Everyone high fived him as you made your way out into the night time.

There was a good chance he knew the boy with the white guitar. You'd been too busy watching him yourself to see if Zach had paid attention. If you asked though, it would lead to teasing and stupid kissing sounds and the protective banter only a sibling could provide. So, you said nothing and took another bottle of cider by the neck and started to down it. 

…

It was an accident that you made eye contact with him. It was his final song and when his eyes met yours, he couldn't stop grinning. It meant he sung with a thicker accent in his inability to control the movement of his mouth. When his guitar was packed away and he left the room, you grabbed two bottles of beer and followed him to his car.

"You're good," you called from the street corner. He slammed the door and looked over at you, smiling again. It was a look that told you he couldn't really believe his luck.

"Thanks, love. I'm in a band. Not just me, you know?"

"Where are they then?"

He took the few steps to you, lighting a cigarette. That's when he noticed the bottles.

"That for me?" he asked, pointing. You nodded and handed one over. He twisted the top off his with ease, then did the same with yours without being asked to. You clinked the necks of the bottles together and both took a swig. "Thank you. And, uh… the lids don't much like all this press stuff…"

"That was press?"

"Yeah… filming for some blog thing… or something… I don't know. Just kinda say yes to everythin', you know?"

"Makes sense. Get your name out there," you replied with a nod.

"Exactly. Speakin' of… What is your name?"

"What's a lid?"

"Huh?"

"Lid… you said the lids don't like press. What's a lid?"

The guy laughed and stepped from foot to foot. "Just means lad… mate, or whatever."

His name was Van and he was a ball of nervous ticks and small details that combined to create the exact type of person you wanted to kiss. Instead, he led you back inside and you did shots together and danced around the kitchen island to the shitty pop songs that filled the house once his own guitar rock had stopped. 

He asked who you were at the party at. 

"Uh, got a couple friends around somewhere. My brother is in town for a bit, and he knows Becca too," you replied, referring to the girl that had invited you and Zach along. 

You asked Van why he was doing press at a house party and he explained that Becca was the one who organised it. 

The conversation got progressively less cohesive as the night went on. It wasn't like your desire to know about him and his music died down, it was just that alcohol was consumed and Van's hands got more confident by the hour.

After the dancing and the hand holding as you walked around looking for the iPod that was providing the horrible playlist, you retreated to the dark living room. Literally backed into the corner, Van ran his hands up and down your arm.

"I like this dress," he whispered. "Feels nice."

The thick crushed velvet of your baby pink dress was what you liked about it too. You let his hand move to the hem of it. Whatever Van wanted, he was going to get.

…

Your dress was almost around your neck. Strangled, overheated, and dehydrated, you rolled out of bed groaning. You looked at yourself in the mirror; a mess. You pulled the dress down to where it should have been sitting on your body. The pink velvet didn't look as pink anymore. It was dirty. There were bruises on your legs and your eyes were rimmed in messy black. You needed water and some toast, or something. Painkillers and more sleep. Maybe a hug.

A hug.

There had been hugging. A boy at the party. At first, it was glances across the room. Then, dancing. Then, hand holding and innocent touching. Finally, it was hard kissing against his car outside. His hands were under your dress, in your underwear, and yours were unzipping his pants. He was pretty and familiar somehow. He just looked like another silly black-jeaned boy that you grew up with, probably. His name was Van and he laughed like he'd never known pain. Mouth hot and needy, you fell in love with the moment.

Your phone had rung and your friend wanted you. You left Van in the darkness and he yelled after you, "Don't even know your name, sweetheart!" With every intention of finding him later, you blew a kiss through the air at him. But later there was drama and then more drinking and you told Zach you'd see him at home. He nodded and told you to stay safe.

Judging by the bruising, you'd not stayed safe. Well, not completely. The hangover alone was a risk to your health, let alone whatever else happened after Van and before finding your way home.

You could hear voices out in the living room. Zach was a good brother, but he was presumptuous. He'd brought people back to yours without asking first. You pulled on fluffy striped bed socks and walked through the hallway, into the living room. Your brother was sitting on the coffee table, facing someone lying on the couch. You couldn't see them over the back of it. Another guy was passed out in an armchair. He was all twisted in a weird position and either his headband had slipped over his face or someone was purposefully trying to blind him. You remembered him from the night before though, Zach's friend, Larry. He was sweet.

"Y/N. Wow… You look worse than I feel. I'll make coffee. Sit. Talk. Maybe you can top his story of lost love or whatever," Zach said pointing to the person on the couch. As he walked from the room, you moved to sit. The person sat up as you rubbed your eyes and sat next to them.

"Pink dress," someone whispered in a tone of shock. You opened your eyes and looked over. Van. Van was sitting on your couch looking at you with tired but still bright fucking blue eyes. His hair was sticking up in every direction and his black t-shirt was ripped along one of the arm hems. His jeans were off and his underwear was dark grey and even in the morning light and through the pain of the hangover you knew, you just fucking knew, you could love him in all his glorious mess. Slowly, his mouth curved into a grin.

"Van," you said. You stared at each other, not moving. Exhausted brains taking too long to process a basic fact; you had found each other.

"Y/N, where is your sugar at," Zach asked walking back in. You looked over at him too slowly to hide that something was happening. Van didn't stop looking at you. "Oh, God. Oh, God. Van. Please… Please don't fucking tell me I just listened to you tell me a story about fingerbanging my sister?!"

"Whaaaaaaaaat," you said, quickly looking back at Van. "Fingerbang?!"

"I did not say that. I just…" Van didn't know what to say.

"He didn't use those words. He mostly just said some spacey fucking shit about some girl in a pink dress that was 'too pretty for this world' and it was disgusting... And now you're pink dress girl and it makes me want to fucking puke. Where's the sugar?"

"Cupboard above the microwave," you replied. He nodded and left the room.

"Hi," Van said, drawing your attention back to him.

"Hi,"

"You didn't come find me,"

"My friend… There was… stuff and I had to go with her to this other party… and… I did mean to come back," you explained but your sentence trailed off when Van nodded sarcastically and made a face like he didn't believe you. "Fine. Yeah. I ditched you. And now you're in my lounge room with no pants on. Everything worked out fine," you said, equally sarcastic.

"Think Zach's gonna wanna fight me?"

"Just keep your mouth shut, yeah? Not very nice to kiss and tell," you replied, standing. Van watched as you got a throw blanket from the storage ottoman and gently cover Larry with it. You moved to leave the room, go back to bed, sleep it off. Van followed. You stopped and turned. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" he countered. 

"Going back to bed,"

"Same," he replied, then walked off down the hall. "Which way is it?"

As you closed your bedroom door, you heard the television go on in the lounge room and the volume being turned up much louder than necessary.


End file.
